Phantom of the North
by Allen Maverick Ivers
Summary: An adapted D&D game of mine, this is a story about a man hoping for a normal life, a woman wanting to right her kingdom and a ghost who wants revenge from the past. Hopefully to be updated soon. Rated PG-13 for violence and mild language.
1. Ages Past

Phantom of the North  
  
Chapter 1 Ages Past  
  
Tamilis sifted through the scrolls, almost like an old sage; examining every piece of evidence, and searching for answers. The storage room she was in had a cold feeling to it, an ambient blue to it, and her breath was an icy white in front of her face. The smell of crusty old tomes and rotting papers filled the room with a horrid stench, and her ears couldn't even catch the sign of life of mice. The timbers holding the roof up seemed ready to collapse, eaten by time and decay. She hated this part of her job. President of Unther, huh? Talk about false titles! She thought, as she lifted up an old portrait of her mother, Khelwana.  
  
Khelwana was a beautiful woman, with high cheek bones, a firm chin and starlight twinkling in her blue eyes. A lean muscular figure showed a warrior, but one would never have guessed she'd been a blacksmith before her presidency. The problems of battle and hardship had left Khelwana's once full, wide lips cracked and dry. Her face was scarred, and ash was left on her right cheek in a blurry gray spot.  
  
Tamilis smiled, absently, remembering the days of when her mother would tuck her in bed at night. The days where Tamilis would sit up late, asking her old crush, Eric, the guard captain, to fetch her things. He would do so, without question.  
  
Oh, damn! Tamilis shook her head, and the smile faded. The council was waiting for her. There was that trouble in the farms to the south, the sudden abandonment of the Monastery of the Shining Wolf to the East, and the strange invaders from the Northern lands.  
  
Tamilis tucked the portrait under arm, and turned toward the winding staircase. Eric was there, now an old man. Still very alive and eager, Eric was hunched over, with a gray goatee, and a round face. He had a smile on his face, as he led Tamilis back up the stairs to castle grounds.  
  
Tamilis thought as she walked, the invaders could be more stragglers of the Arm of Revan. or could the Orc tribes be striking the towns again? They have that bad habit. Still, mother left that note. Tamilis lifted a piece of paper from the back of the portrait; her real objective down in the storage rooms.  
  
She held it up, so that the light from Eric's torch lit the backside of the note, lighting up the words. She read it with care, aiming to catch lying undertones that gave away more information;  
  
In the Year 217, here lie the sayings of President Khelwana Blackforge, and the Day of Judgment. Barbarian commander Yonan has fallen, his commanding amulet crushed by one of his hill giant troops. Without their leader, the army collapses, and the Arm of Revan are no longer.  
  
Without the Amulet of Gigan, he held no control over his troops, and the army of the North was easily overwhelmed. In the defense of Terevas, many of our finest soldiers were slain. The siege weapons of Revan were nearly too much. But, we prevailed.  
  
The ashes of Yonan's amulet were destroyed, thrown into the sea, never to be seen again. Yonan's body was given to his people for whatever punishment they wished their oppressive leader to take. My reign has just begun, and yet I can already feel the weight of the burden upon Unther and myself. Without me, this country would fall. I have saved Unther twice now, and I have no wish to do it a third time. The burden weighs heavily on my shoulders.  
  
I plan to leave soon, on a trip to lessen the damage, and to reinstate order in our war-torn countries. I hope everything goes well.  
  
This is a Notice from President Khelwana Blackforge, 217, April  
  
She never returned from her trip. Suspects were found, but no real charges were pressed on any one. Tamilis hated her mother for that. Tamilis had gotten every piece of unwanted profession from Khelwana; Scribe, President, Blacksmith. The heir Dom of Unther. A ten-year presidential term, and life of writing, and hitting metals. What a life was laid out for her.  
  
* * * *  
  
Bryon Janura drank heavily from his pint of ale. The ranger found no comfort in the drink, yet felt soothed from his day's anguishes. An orc raider, a dead doe, and a burning village. What else must he save to make things right in his world? And why couldn't the world just leave him be?  
  
He took another drink, draining the glass. The bottom of the iron mug appeared in his face, with little bits of froth still sticking to the sides of the glass. He set the mug down and called for another, with a few coppers waved in the air.  
  
The inn was dimly lit, with a grayish brown floor, and walls. A Krenshar rug, gifted to the innkeeper, Aren, as a thank you, lay in the center of the room. The array of tables and chairs were set around it, as if the rug held some significance in life. Bryon thought the use of the monster's fur was horrible. Aren could at least clothe one of the townsfolk who wore ten year old rags from their birth.  
  
Aren stepped over and handed the Bryon another mug of ale. Bryon gave Aren his empty mug and the cost of the new drink over. Bryon's hands were dry, even in the humid room. The arid stench of smoke and alcohol would probably never leave.  
  
Bryon shifted on his stool, his left hand grazing an old scar on his belly. Creature damn near took my belly out.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted with a shout and call for contest, "Hey, Ogre- hoar, let's see how tough you are in REAL battle, eh?" A little, balding man of maybe 30 was standing up on one of the chairs, waving his fists in the air like a fool. The man he was challenging was about 6 feet tall, and pure muscle; a half-orc. The half-orc wore armor of the North; a barbarian of Orcania, the Northern Lands. The challenger was obviously drunk, and the orc, by size alone, almost couldn't be drunk.  
  
Bryon sighed, and stood up. One fight, meant a bar brawl. At least in the Singing Star Tavern it did.  
  
The half-orc casually kicked the chair's feet from under the bald man. The challenger fell, and smashed one of the tables in half. Chaos ensued.  
  
Bryon punched out an oncoming drunk man, and then elbowed a woman in the stomach. Punching and kicking, Bryon waded his way through the crowd. Suddenly, he felt a pang of pain in his head, and he fell flat on his back. Bryon stood up, and looked around for the chair thrower.  
  
The dwarf who'd thrown it decided to hide the moment Bryon saw him, but the ranger had no intent on chasing down the dwarf. Bryon somehow found his way to the orc, and gently took him out of the riot, to a dark corner of the tavern.  
  
"You're new around here, aren't you?" Bryon asked, as he began to drink from someone's abandoned ale.  
  
The half-orc nodded, "I am a messenger from the North."  
  
"Messenger?" Bryon nodded with approval, What in Hell's an Orcanian doing in Unther? "Who to?"  
  
The half-orc shook his head, "I cannot disclose that information."  
  
Bryon gave a look of respect, and expectance, "Regency?" Bryon asked.  
  
The half-orc slowly nodded, after understanding that Bryon was inferring to his heritage, "I'm Drekas, the half-son of Regent Iren of Revan."  
  
Bryon quickly raised a hand to clamp the half-orc's mouth shut on the last part, "Cut the Revan part, people here don't like that word."  
  
The half-orc nodded understandingly, "I know why."  
  
Another chair. Bryon flinched, seeing it coming out of the corner of his eye, but Drekas extended his arm forward, and caught it. The then, lobbed it back, with a flick of his wrist. Bryon stared at the direction of the throw; perfectly countered and re-thrown, "You and I could become good friends, Drekas." 


	2. Wars Rekindled

Phantom of the North  
  
Chapter 2 War Rekindled  
  
Tamilis entered the large council chamber. Many familiar faces were inside, and for the first time in over a year, she would take the seat of Khelwana at the head of the elliptic table. The room was almost like a cathedral, a large echo chamber, with marble flooring, and stained glass windows, allowing light into the room. Through the windows, Tamilis saw her guard sniper-archers, and Arbiter elites, their shadows casting strange images around the glass. The arbiters wore helmets with moon crescents on them. They were walking blades, swords at hands, knives at toes and elbows. No enemy, thus far, challenged an Arbiter and lived.  
  
"President," the acknowledgement rang throughout the room as every body spoke the title and rose from their seats.  
  
"I want an update, where do we stand?" Tamilis asked, as she took her own seat, the notice from Khelwana still in hand.  
  
There was a moment of profound noise as all took their seats, save one; General Davier Brewton. Brewton was a proud dwarf, from Dendwelthil. He held himself up, his breastplate shining bright in the mid-morning sun, the twin silver axe insignia of his god, Clettrin Foehammer, profound in the view. He spoke with a surly, stereotypical Dwarven tone, "Our scouting parties have not returned, m'lady, and the approaching force has not stopped in it's march to us."  
  
"Ma'am," a male, masculine voice rose from Tamilis's immediate left. A strong figure, lean, with brown, ruffled hair, and leather plate across his chest, this man was a very familiar face to her; Kevin Grey, captain of the Arbiters and the only one who was more deadly WITHOUT the armor. He was also very experienced, and Tamilis was very ready to take any council he had. and then some, she thought, grinning, evilly to herself.  
  
Kevin paused for a moment, "Those scout parties are not easily overwhelmed. To be able to receive no report, they must've been annihilated in under thirty seconds. They'd need that time to get a messenger off and clear of the battle. That's fifty men, gone, with no trace. That means someone's marching on Terevas," he said, grimly, referring to the capital city they were in, "and they want us blind to all that is moving."  
  
Tamilis turned back to the general, "Damn," she whispered, "Get the army up to battle ready, double patrols, and hang together. Re-election will be difficult in two years," she finished with a smile.  
  
All in the room chuckled. A little comic relief helped all to ease themselves, Tamilis had learned this over the years. With Kevin and Davier at her side, things would be much easier. But still, war was brewing in Unther.  
  
* * *  
  
".only child, and only survivor of the Weyland Massacre, during the Arm Wars," Bryon had just finished telling his brief history to his new friend. Bryon had quickly discovered, that, even for a half-orc, Drekas had a very complicated life, and was very well educated as well. Bryon felt it necessary to tell some about himself in response.  
  
"A fascinating childhood, Bryon," Drekas said, no Orcish accent in his voice at all. This 'barbarian' was truly of the Regency. They were honorable. enough.  
  
Bryon grinned, "Seemed lively enough for me! I pave my way selling animal skins and monster hunting. Goblins, Krenshar, maybe an Otyugh or two. Pays well enough," Bryon finished with a slug of his ale, "Not enough, though."  
  
"Strapped for coin?" Drekas asked.  
  
"More than that!" Bryon retorted, "I've got a loan shark hunting me, all the way from Aranna. I knew that Gnome was trouble!"  
  
Drekas chuckled to himself, sharing the gnome joke with Bryon. He'd heard his share of Halfling and Gnome jokes in his day, and trouble followed them wherever they went. And at least a laugh or two.  
  
The pair shared gnome jokes over unconscious men from drink or fight, laughing and pushing the occasional passerby back to his or her table.  
  
Bryon cocked his head, and shushed a now hysterical Drekas. "What is it?" Drekas asked, a smile still stuck his face, and a chuckle in his throat. Not the prettiest smile Bryon had ever seen but, he didn't care right now. Something. was coming. right for them!  
  
"DOWN!" Bryon flipped the table, spilling beer and bread, as a sharp whistle blew the tavern, right before a large catapult rock hit the far wall. The fireplace spat fire to the corners of the room, the table saving Bryon and Drekas from bad burns. Aren yelped and hid behind his bar, as a 6 inch piece of shrapnel drove into the wall next to him.  
  
Bryon crouched low, and made his way to the tavern door. "We were so loud and drunk, we were fricken' oblivious," Bryon whispered, seeing numerous goblins, and orcs standing outside the tavern, some fighting with town guard, others looting corpses and entering houses to do the Gods know what to the interior and those inside.  
  
Bryon looked to Drekas and nodded. A wordless question, and Drekas pulled from his back, a hammer and a battle axe, both wielded in one hand a piece. Bryon drew his sword and dagger.  
  
"One, two, three," Bryon counted up as an orc came toward the tavern door, "now!"  
  
Drekas and Bryon kicked the door simultaneously. The wooden door slammed directly into the orc, and the combined force sent it flying away. Half- drunk, and adrenaline in their systems, the two fighters joined the onslaught of war. For war it truly was. The sky was blackened with the dust of thousands of footsteps, and the screams of the dying and wounded now pierced directly into their half-watered minds. Terror, anger, misery, and vengeance all flowed directly back into Bryon's mind.  
  
*  
  
Ten years before; smoke in the sky, the screams of ravaged women, and the moans of dying men. All came back in a flash. In a split second, his view across the town of Weyland. All would be dead, and one little child ran into the woods; his only refuge. Stained with the blood of his father and cursed with the memories of his mother's and sister's fate, this boy would soon shape the fortunes of all.  
  
*  
  
"AAAAARRRGGGHH!" His vision a blinding red, dotted with black, Bryon could barely see, as he lost control. Six orcs and goblins were dead before they knew he was there.  
  
Drekas only got one.  
  
Bryon rushed on, cutting orcs to shreds. War was war, and Bryon was a soldier. A soldier for truth, he'd told himself. But was he? The question had never arisen before, he thought, as all came to darkness for him. The world black, and his hands still cleaving.  
  
"How is he?"  
  
"Heart rate is down to normal. His wounds aren't serious I wouldn't worry too much."  
  
Faces. so many faces. Drekas? No. yes, it had to be. where was he?  
  
"Ohhhh," Bryon moaned, his right arm went to hold his head. A sharp pain bit through the arm as it moved, "where am I?"  
  
The faces were so cloudy, "The Castle Terevas. It's three in the afternoon." That was a familiar voice.  
  
"Drekas?" Bryon opened his eyes, but the dots were there, and pain flowed through his eyes as a bright light bit into his skull. He winced.  
  
"Don't open those eyes!" Bryon's eyes almost snapped open. Damn! That voice was sexy! "Bloodfeud. I've seen it before. Mostly hits war vets."  
  
"Why him? He was a farmer's son. A child during the war." Drekas's voice.  
  
"I don't know. And. I guess, he's the only one that knows why. But, he's certainly a hero HERE, now." The woman. concerned. for me? Or. what?  
  
Bryon's thoughts were clouded as his world dimmed further, to the Dreams. Oh, God. the Dreams. they came, burnt. and left him with no memory. the dreams. 


	3. Fortunes of War

Phantom of the North  
  
Chapter 3 Fortunes of War  
  
Bryon ran through the woods, blood staining his back and arms. His hands were covered with the black and green colors of dirt and orc blood. His hair was ruffled, unruly, and his body was rank with the smell of death; just like everything else in the area. All together, if he lay still, h looked almost like blood-stained vegetation.  
  
Bryon drew his scathing knife and charged at an unsuspecting orc. With one hand, he jerked the orc's neck back, and drew a dark line across the orc's neck.  
  
The Arm. yes, that was it, the Arm of Revan. Looting, pillaging, murdering, committing crimes of war no one could stop; except, he thought, maybe him. Well, not stop, but certainly, he could make a difference. Scores of them had already fallen beneath his stealthy blade. Scouts, wounded, or unlucky, orcs were all his knife could find, but Bryon swore he'd get more of them.  
  
A snap behind him. Orc? No time! Bryon darted behind a tree, and chanced a look; orc. And it suspected something. The orc's curved, and razored blade swung left, then right, searching for a warm body to bury itself in.  
  
I've got to hide! The tree? Bushes? Tree... Bryon went over ideas in his mind, tree..., TREE!  
  
* * *  
  
Bryon awoke from the dream, the nightmare fading from his memory even at that moment.  
  
"I'm sorry, Drekas, but there's no way of knowing if he'll make it through the night."  
  
Bryon heard that woman again. He opened his eyes, and remarkably, they were fine. It was a little dark, but he could see clearly. He slowly rose, and felt the wound on his arm complain again. He walked over to a curtain, separating one bunk from the others. A candle lit the inside of the cloth sheet 'wall'.  
  
"Such an end for the boy." Drekas said, his voice deep with sympathy.  
  
Bryon parted the curtain, and looked inside. Drekas and the woman were inside, standing over. a ten year old boy. His neck was gnawed, and his body was bruised and beaten. Bryon knew, that the boy was going to die, or he would live again, only to be food for the orc army.  
  
Bryon's eyes closed, and a single tear rolled down his face.  
  
"Personally, I don't think he'll make it. Don't you see, Drekas? THIS is war. There is collateral damage, and no one can protect them," the woman laid her hand on the half-orc's shoulder.  
  
Drekas's hand brushed the boy's hair, the child's face finally becoming visible. Bryon couldn't look on any more. He returned to his bunk, cautious not to alert Drekas's sharp ears.  
  
* * *  
  
"War takes no prisoners, Drekas," Drekas whispered to himself, too low for the nurse to hear. What if he lives, Janis?" Drekas asked.  
  
"Then, he'll be the luckiest kid I've ever seen. Yet, miracles happen," Janis shrugged.  
  
Drekas rubbed his eyes, invisible tears disappearing. He stood, his knees quaking, and hands trembling, "I need to rest, Janis."  
  
Janis placed her hands on her hips, both stained with human blood. She did most of the surgery in the House of Healing. Few went without care, there, "There aren't any free cots-"  
  
"I have a bedroll, Drekas interjected. He parted the curtain, and looked Bryon's way. The sheets were shifted...most off the bed. Drekas shrugged, and opened his pack. Inside was his life, including his message; message to warn of this attack. He hadn't made it in time. If only those Blade men would've allowed him to see the President, maybe this could've been averted. Maybe the boy.  
  
Drekas lay onto the ground, not even bothering to open up his bedroll, and collapsed in rest, the sounds of battle still close by.  
  
* * *  
  
"Hey! Hey, wake up!" Janis poked Bryon's shoulder, then shoved him. With the motion, he rolled forward, grabbed a knife he'd hidden in the mattress, and brought it toward her. He stopped right at the base of her neck, and Janis froze, didn't even breath. His had drooped down, and he sighed, "By the Gods, don't scare me like that! I coulda killed you!"  
  
"I noticed," Janis said, color returning to her face. A drop of sweat dribbled down her neck, and she wiped at her forehead.  
  
"What is it, nurse?" Bryon asked, stretching his wounded arm. He stopped and looked at it. There... was no wound. Bryon's face darkened with slight confusion, then dropped the idea.  
  
"It's..." Janis watched him peer at the injury and she smirked, "It's the President. She wants to see you and Drekas in twenty minutes."  
  
"Why?" Bryon asked, rubbing the sand from his eyes and yawning.  
  
"How should I know? She calls you, you go!" Janis lifted his cot, threatening to dump him. He stood up sharply, before she could continue lifting the cot. Smiling, she then turned to Drekas, "Come on, lug. Up an' at 'em!" 


	4. Vengeance

Phantom of the North  
  
Chapter 4 Vengeance  
  
"Ah, Bryon, Drekas, glad you could join us!" Bryon's head turned toward the speaker. She was a thin, lean woman, with almond-shaped brown eyes. Her lips were cracked with either the woman's ignorance of their condition or her wanting it that way, Bryon didn't know. However, she wore enough insignias to make a general feel heavy.  
  
"Tamilis," Bryon bowed as he spoke, and Drekas followed suit.  
  
"I was told one of you had a message for me," Tamilis said, her hand dropping to her hips, and Bryon's eyes followed, his face lit up with a smile, and a conniving look in his eyes.  
  
Drekas handed his note to her. She didn't say anything, but gestured for the two to take seats.  
  
Bryon went for one seat next to Tamilis, but another man, clad in leather plate, quickly sat in it, glaring at Bryon. Bryon stared at the leather plated man, then moved, with Drekas, to other side of the room. Bryon took a moment to take in the sheer magnitude of the room, while Drekas paid attention.  
  
"What's the combat status of our troops, General?" Tamilis asked.  
  
A surly, old dwarf stood from his seat next to Bryon, "Most are weary, or wounded. We managed to take their catapults out of the battle, but we lost many men in doing so. If we keep winning victories at that high a price, we'll lose."  
  
Bryon tilted his head, and glared at the General, "You should be a morale officer!" He quipped, then to the President, "Why am I here?"  
  
Tamilis sighed, and her hands clenched into fists. General Brewton turned towards Bryon, ready to hurl one of his famous insults, but a glare from Tamilis stopped him, "You are here to help. I was impressed by your skill in the main battle, and I think you could be of use to the war effort."  
  
"Is that so?" Bryon responded, his voice's pitch dropping and his eyes darkening, "I lost my whole family in the Arm wars. I don't want to participate in one again."  
  
Tamilis's hands gripped the arm rests of her chair, and she ground her teeth, trying to keep her aggravation concealed, "We thought you might be able to do us a favor. The leader of the opposing force."  
  
"You want us to kill him?" Drekas asked, assuming Tamilis's objective.  
  
The leader could be a 'her', Bryon thought. Leaders weren't necessarily men. Unther was a good example.  
  
Bryon nodded, his head going up and down at a slow pace, "Cut off the head of the viper." he let it trail off, the intended response moving through the inhabitants of the Council Room.  
  
"Kevin?" Tamilis asked, turning toward the armored man at her right, "Go with them. See them to the enemy base. The Arbiters, and remaining soldiers will lead an immediate counter-attack. The enemy should crumble for a moment, buying you enough time to get to the command center."  
  
The leather plated man nodded, and Bryon grimaced. What a team we'll make. A Half-orc barbarian, a war-torn ranger, and a coveting S. O. B. Just great!  
  
"Alright, I assume everyone knows where they need to be?" Tamilis asked. When no one responded, "Good. Let's do it!" She rose, and everyone in the room stood, and for a first, so did Bryon. She was a hot piece for sure, but she was also a very honorable woman. And that was what Bryon stood for.  
  
* * * *  
  
The iron grate lifted from the ground. Ten fingers lifted the sewer grate up, and a pair of eyes appeared. They scanned the area, and, deeming it safe, shifted the grate to the left. Kevin crawled from the sewer first. He then helped Drekas out, and ignored Bryon.  
  
"The command tent's over there," Kevin said, his hand pointing to a large, red, octagonal tent. It must've been at least 20 feet in diameter.  
  
"Quite the tent," Bryon quipped, "There an outhouse in there, too?"  
  
Kevin's eyes scanned the area, picking out a pair of orc guards facing the battle; away from them, "I'll take care of the guards."  
  
"I do not think the leader will be much trouble," Drekas added, his axe and hammer already drawn.  
  
Kevin turned towards Bryon and wagged his finger at him, "Don't get cocky."  
  
Bryon's mouth dropped, as he looked between Drekas and Kevin, "I didn't do anything!" He said.  
  
Kevin rushed off to the guards, while Drekas went for the tent flap. Bryon shrugged, his mouth still low. Crouched, and walking on the balls of his feet, he crossed toward the tent, and nearly made Drekas jump in surprise.  
  
The pair parted the tent flap just a little, and peered inside. Three; all hooded and crouching around maps. There were plenty of shadows cast by the figures, as the only light in the room was fro ma lamp on the map table. Little, to no furniture, and a second tent flap on the opposite side. No problem. Almost too easy. aah, forget it. Life is easy!  
  
Bryon slipped in, and darted for the shadows near the entrance. Drekas followed suit. Peering toward the maps, Bryon attempted to catch words or phrases of what they were discussing. Drekas, unknown to Bryon, attempted to get around to block the other exit. He failed.  
  
"Why must Tamilis send thugs to stab me in the back?" A voice, cold. It seemed to pierce Bryon's heart. Then, he noticed Drekas. Dammit!  
  
One of the hooded figures lowered his hood revealing a young, battle- scarred, pale face. Human, maybe five foot eight, and muscled. This won't be quite so easy.  
  
"Ortok, Ferenq, deal with him." The other two threw back their cloaks, revealing studded armor, strong swords and sable shields.  
  
Bryon drew his scathing knife, and hurled it at one's head. It hit hard, and sunk threw the hard skull. Bryon would probably never get the knife again. On came the other, straight for him, the new threat. He forgot comepletely about Drekas. The orc was fast. Drekas was faster. One hit to the back of the had with Drekas's hammer kept the orc down.  
  
Bryon stood from the shadows, sword drawn and eyes searching for the leader. Bryon found him, hunched in the far corner. The man spoke, "Fools all! You cannot see what this land has become! Do you want to know? It was a bloody field long before I got here. Khelwana, Tamilis's mother, led a revolt on their leader. Massacred the only leader they ever knew. I came to help them, to govern them. And they banished me, too. But, there was a price for their victory. I live again!" The man cast away his cloak, revealing bare skin. The naked man's skin however caught Bryon's attention. It was almost 'boiling'.  
  
"I live again, only to inflict my curse, for what THEY did to me! Do you understand. what it's like? Having to live in fear, of them coming for you? I won't let it happen. I won't!" The man hunches over again and from his back burst three spikes, his wrists conform into two large claws and his skin hardens turning a color between orange and red. His legs suddenly became reverse jointed, with a strange crunching sound. And he grew straight up at least two feet. The horns nearly brushed the tent's roof. "And NO one can stop me!!  
  
Bryon shook his head, "It's never easy is it?" He asked Drekas. He got only a frown as a response before all broke into Hell. 


	5. All Alone

Phantom of the North  
  
Chapter 5 All Alone  
  
(This battle scene is taken straight from the actual battle in the D&D game)  
  
The beast came on, sharp wrist blades aiming for Bryon's heart. The thing's thunderous three-toed feet made deep impressions in the earth, and its back spikes tore holes in the ceiling.  
  
Bryon cursed, and dove left, only to find table. He hit hard, and transferred into a roll, over the table. His feet met solid ground ,and his eyes saw only the beast, as it still came on. Drekas was behind it, his axe and hammer raised over it.  
  
The twin weapons plunged into it, dealing both blunt and blade damage. Blood leaked from open wounds. A blood-curdling scream of rage emitted from the attacking demon. It spun, its tail flying by Bryon's head, the wind blowing his hair back. Twin piercing blades lashed out at Drekas's exposed flank. They bit into his armor, and tore a piece of him free.  
  
Drekas grunted, but he was in a barbarian rage now. Adrenaline, and sheer force of will would keep this half-orc going for the duration of this battle. And then, he would either die, or collapse in fatigue. Bryon wasn't that lucky.  
  
Bryon got on top of the table, his head touching the torn roof, and his muddy boots staining the maps. Oh well, he thought, as his blade came back for a thrust. The Demon turned, glaring straight at the end of a long, steel blade. Bryon knew he had little time. He counted the seconds in his head, and watched his foe, with care.  
  
One; Bryon cocked his arm back, ready to deal the death blow. The spikes in his opponent's back shrunk, with a strange Shloomp! sound.  
  
Two; Bryon watched for a second, choosing his move. The demon hunched over so far that its back was facing Bryon. The ranger's eyes went wide. Son of a -  
  
No time to strike. Three; Bryon cart wheeled from the table, nearly dropping his sword in sudden retreat. The blades on the demon's back launched out, straight for Bryon.  
  
The blades came on, several missing legs, arms, and other limbs by inches. The missed shots punctured the table, leaving sharp points upward. One blade hit Bryon square in the thigh, and another in his side. Bryon didn't have the training or skill Drekas had to absorb or ignore pain. The injury sent a burning flare up his side and down his leg. The ranger collapsed, unable to hold himself up.  
  
Drekas attacked again, unyielding to his own injuries. His hammer hit hard against the creature's armored hide, and his axe pierced the demon's side. Wailing in pain, the demon spun, and caught an arrow in the chest.  
  
There was Kevin, at the corner of the room, a longbow at his side, and another arrow at the ready. The steel tip gleamed and Kevin's mud stained armor seemed perfect, without scratch or crack. He seemed perfect. and lethal.  
  
"Back to the pits that spawned you!" Kevin said, and launched the arrow flew. It's metal tip cut the air, and the shaft came on straight and true. Kevin's shot was good, very good, Bryon had to admit. He had to be a ranger to shoot that well.  
  
The arrow hit the demon in the head. It fell back, collapsing on the table Bryon had been on only moments before. The spikes, the missed shots from the creature's strange attack. They waited as the demon fell. The blades pierced the demon in critical spots, dealing lethal damage.  
  
The creature convulsed for a moment, then was still. Kevin looked at Drekas, then to a bleeding Bryon. The Ranger's tan shirt was stained copper at the waist with blood. Kevin's face was emotionless, "Your welcome."  
  
* * *  
  
Tamilis glared around her room, the resting chambers of the Presidential family. A golden-embroidered comforter, woven by the finest weavers in Terevas lay on her bed, and the bamboo wood flooring felt smooth on her feet. The air seemed so cool, and the scents of the roses above her bed filled the room with a sweet fragrance.  
  
Tamilis closed her eyes, breathing in the saccharine aroma. When she opened her eyes. the flowers' petals were on her bed, the petals and the flower both blackened, and crusted. The room was empty of the smell, and something else had taken it's place. something.strange.  
  
"Hello, my dear," a voice in her head! A face, suddenly burned itself in her vision, not disappearing, even when she closed her eyes. A man's face. laughing.  
  
The president opened her mouth to yell for the guards, but when no sound came from her lips, she knew. really KNEW. that she was and would be all alone. 


End file.
